


The Multiverse Theory

by sirsoundwaveIV



Category: Persona 4, Rockman ZX | Mega Man ZX, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsoundwaveIV/pseuds/sirsoundwaveIV





	1. Chapter 1

(Hello there! I’ll be posting small author blurbs before each update of this (maybe), mostly because if this is any indication these chapters are a) massive and b) quite simply don’t have the space or time to devote to exposition without it sounding like exposition.

In this case, this is a quick crash course on the Multiverse. It’s functionally a setting with a lot of worlds from various fictions (some worlds combined with others from other, related, fiction) that circle around the Moon, the center of life in the Multiverse and functionally its hub world. Characters from various fictions also inhabit these worlds and the Moon as well.

The Multiverse itself drains people’s powers to their most basic form when they enter it, but it also removes limitations; so for example, a Pokemon trainer could in theory be strong enough to fight Unicron depending on the circumstances and how strong they are. This also in turn means that things in the Multiverse don’t necessarily work the same way they do in their own canon.

And yes, this is a very convenient and slightly bullshit narrative device, but this setting was created for an RP site that wanted to be as open as possible to things, so I’m rolling with it. Besides the concept itself is already plenty absurd, so functionally having things altered from their canon at author’s discretion isn’t too out there for this.

In this case, this story starts off years after the Multiverse initially came to be, though the Autobot’s Ark crashed on the Moon decades before the Multiverse truly formed, explaining at least their presence here.)


	2. Moon Arcana

The Ark had never been quite this lively, Optimus intoned. Humans and aliens and robots of all species bustling back and forth down gunmetal gray halls, light red circuits humming and glowing brilliantly to accompany those working together to solve crisis and save lives… It was such a far cry from the dingy cargo ship it once was, the last hope of the Autobots evacuating Cybertron. 

What Optimus had expected after that exodus, he had never truly known. But the portal and this ship brought them to a new dimension, a proverbial melting pot of universes, a new home for the Autobots who had once been destined to be nothing more than nomads among the stars. 

His heavy footsteps rounded the corner towards the medical wing. A much quieter place, to be certain; whether it was the halls of people of all walks and species doing their work to protect this multiverse, the training grounds that routinely found themselves burned down after Grimlock and Bulkhead had one too many intense sparring matches, the Ark could never be described as calm.

He stopped by the first office, the high tech doors with a bright baby blue name tag for Ratchet, the Autobot’s medic. Optimus chuckled a little at the sight; Grimlock had accidentally torn off the old one when transforming into a tyrannosaurus rex, and a little android girl named Cinnamon had made a new one for “Uncle Ratchet”, written in as neat of handwriting as the nurse could muster.

Still, Optimus knew he was a few minutes early, and he could hear Ratchet talking with someone behind that door.

Ratchet’s office wasn’t much different, layout wise, from a human’s. A small cube with a window into space and the stars and planets down below, his desk held his computer and an assortment of old Cybertronian trinkets he had managed to save. A menu for Maccadam’s sat upright towards the window, an assortment of drinks that Ratchet doubted he’d ever truly have a taste for again.

“The good news is you should make a full recovery from your…” Ratchet waved a hand, then looked up at the boy. Blue eyes looking down at his clasped hands in his lap, light tan pants and blue vest separated by latex, visible on his waist. His spikes bobbed up and down with even the slightest of fidgets, bringing attention to the odd gray metal devices covering where a normal human’s ears would be. 

Earmuffs, Ratchet called them. He hummed and tapped his tablet, all sorts of medical data and information on his patient at his fingertips.

“Petrification,” he finished. The boy’s slump of his shoulders suggested Ratchet lost his wrestling match with his vocabulary. “You’ll need physical therapy to get your strength back, but there shouldn’t be any long term repercussions. For your general health, anyway.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, picking up on the qualifier.

“And?” he asked.

Ratchet sighed. Always the bad news.

“The bad news is; you’ll never be able to megamerge again,” Ratchet finished. It was the boy’s power, more or less; fuse with a piece of metal that encased him in armor with abilities not unlike some ancient hero’s or another.

“Oh.” The boy’s eyes darted back and forth, his mind battling between telling the truth or telling how he really felt about this.

“I’m sorry Vent, I know it can be hard to deal with suddenly not being able to fight, but…” Ratchet trailed off and drummed his fingers on his datapad, resting on the table now. “The good news is we have a psychologist on board if you need the help.”

“I guess,” Vent replied. He looked out the window, swinging his legs under his little chair. “Aile’s probably more disappointed than I am.”

“Uh huh,” Ratchet said. He rubbed his chin. The two of them were twins but Aile always acted like the older one, the bolder one; sometimes it was easy to forget Vent was there with enough noise. She always dragged him into something or another; saving the world once or twice, fighting bad guys, and Ratchet never got the sense that Vent wanted to. If Aile knew about it, she didn’t seem to pay attention to it.

Aile’s attitude got people killed. Ratchet told her that one time and nearly got punched for it. 

“Still, if there’s anything you need…” Ratchet typed in a set of numbers on his datapad. A holographic screen, light blue with assorted names and numbers, popped out of a gray wristband, buttons and light blue lines of light running around it. “Rung is always there for you.”

Vent sighed. “Yeah. I know.” He pushed out of his chair. “Thanks Ratchet.”

“Anytime, Vent.” Ratchet’s blue eyes followed Vent, the door opened with a shwoom to reveal Optimus.

“Hi,” Vent said in a quiet voice, almost shuffling past the Optimus.

“Hello, Vent,” Optimus replied. He hummed, wary blue eyes following Vent as he rounded the corner out of sight. 

An exasperated sigh from Ratchet broke his concentration, the medic’s white chassis with orange stripes in almost full view. He leaned back in his chair, hand covering his face.

“Difficult meeting, old friend?” Optimus moved to sit down, his bottom mere inches away from the tiny chair before he thought better of it. He stood upright, the sounds of Ratchet drumming his desk hitting his audio receptors.

“I hope to Primus Rung can help him still,” Ratchet said, followed by a hollow laugh. “You would think someone that hung out with Cinnamon all of the time would be infected by her enthusiasm.”

“One would think that.” Optimus set a bigger hunk of metal down where Vent’s chair once was, a silver thing designed to be a chair. “At least he now has access to a trained psychologist on board.”

Ratchet leaned his head on a fist. “If anyone could reach out to someone that shrinks to the background like Vent does, it’d be Rung.” 

“I suppose so,” Optimus replied. “Why did you call me here?”

“A chat. What else?” Ratchet reached down underneath his desk, procuring a small block of pinkish purple liquid, the gunmetal gray top scratched and burnt. 

“… long day?”

“Uggggggh.” Ratchet twisted off the top and in a flash, half of the mixture was gone. “One of those days I wish Maccadam’s was around.” Ratchet laughed. “That bartender could mix drinks like no one’s business! I’ve studied for damn near millennia trying to replicate his recipes and…” He set down the drink with a forceful clink of heavy duty glass on metal. “Nada.”

Optimus eyed the swirling mixture. It had never been his style; one or two with friends had been nice before the war, but then he had the reputation of a leader, of a Prime, to uphold and he cut out the junk besides a quiet drink or two in private, usually in this very office.

“Given everything we deal with, it certainly wasn’t just Vent.”

Ratchet slammed his hands on the table, the angry look in his eyes a precursor to what had become their almost daily tradition of Optimus listening and Ratchet bitching. The second longest ones were the ones that brought out the drinks.

“Well, _first off_ , Prowl decided to pay a visit…”

The longest ones he mentioned Prowl first. No one really liked the strategist; a positively brilliant Autobot, but he seemed to set off others with the slightest smirk or the wrong tone of voice as consistently as humans breathed oxygen.

The rant lasted for Primus knew how long, but Optimus still found it more enjoyable than a meeting with Prowl. Or Ultra Magnus; once upon a time Ratchet had suggested an experiment that involved someone listening to Ultra Magnus for a long period of time to test if a ‘bot could die from complete sensory deprivation.

“… and then Perceptor comes in for a visit!” Ratchet exclaimed.

Optimus perked up in confusion. “Perceptor?”

“He asked me to help him study a pair of glasses, of all of the Primus damned things.” Ratchet threw his hands up. “Like I don’t have enough to attend to and that’s even when you ignore stitching up Bulkhead on a daily basis!”

“… Perceptor always has good reasons to come to you,” Optimus said in a reassuring tone.

“Bah.” Ratchet crossed his arms. “He mentioned something about a fog and shadows and a “TV World””- Optimus noted his finger quotations were quite forceful- “whatever Primus-damned thing _that_ is.”

Optimus scratched his cheek. “Curious.”

“You’re telling me. Something to do with fog and people disappearing in Ingresso and bah,” Ratchet waved his hand. “At some point he mentioned something about a _goddess_ and some myth and Primus-forsaken magic I just sort of. Tuned him out.”

“… isn’t Cinnamon working at the hospital there? In the main city, I mean,” Optimus said. “I certainly would take this a bit more seriously with her there for the time being.”

“I told her to bridge straight from inside the hospital back here,” Ratchet said, leaning forward in his chair and hands clasped at his desk. “I made that very, _very_ clear to her.”

-

Ratchet stretched his joints above his head, the holographic screen at his desk blinking at him with the time; 23:28. A small chemistry set sat in front of him, various vials filled with assorted colored liquids, some bordering on neon. Rolling his neck, Ratchet sat back down. He leaned his cheek into his right hand and grumbled. Another fruitless night of drink mixing.

Drumming his fingers, he muttered a “fine”. The recharge slab won out over further discovery. Not that he had any idea where to proceed for the night anyway, besides taking no-

Ratchet’s wrist buzzed, a blue fuzzy screen forming from it and showing Cinnamon’s face, blonde pigtails and blue eyes matching with her white and light blue nurse’s outfit. 

Ratchet tapped the red flashing call button, a stern look on his face. “Cinnamon? Is everything okay?”

Cinnamon’s nervous, almost scared, face appeared on the screen. “I’m fine,” she said quietly,

Ratchet narrowed his optics. “I asked if _everything_ was okay.”

“… I invited Vent over to the hospital,” she said. Ratchet tilted his head. “He was really down when I saw him earlier, so I figured we could hang out during the night shift and move some boxes around and…” 

“He hasn’t shown up,” Ratchet finished. Cinnamon nodded meekly. “And he’s not answering your calls, is he?”

“I wouldn’t be calling you on this if he was.”

“Mmmmm.” Ratchet rubbed his forehead. Dammit. “I’ll contact Optimus, we’ll get this-“ The sound of static suddenly emerged from his computer, the sleek black monitor centuries beyond normal human tech’s black screen now looking like something that belonged to a TV struggling to get its shit together in the 1950s. “… what on Cybertron.” 

“Uncle Ratchet?” Cinnamon’s voice vaguely hit Ratchet’s ears as the static and buzzing turned into an _image_ , hazy and fuzzy yet gaining color and blues and light tan and scared worried blue eyes and-

“Vent?” Ratchet said, voice hardly above a whisper. Clothes torn, a worried scared look on his face, something like an amusement park _burning_ in the background and-

It stopped, leaving Ratchet alone in the dark, mouth agape and optics wide enough you could drive a space ship through them.

“What?” Cinnamon replied. “Uncle Ratchet, what-“

Ratchet hummed, gawking giving way to thoughtfulness.

“Cinnamon, I’m sending you a bridge to get back here,” Ratchet said, sliding Cinnamon’s image to one side of the hologram screen to send a message to Teletraan Control. “You are to stay in your room while Optimus and I figure out what’s going on here.”

“… okay,” Cinnamon replied.

“I promise you; we will figure this out,” Ratchet said. “… and I don’t need you getting hurt from whatever _this_ is.”

-

The light from a massive supercomputer, the size of three Optimuses and change, greeted Optimus as he stepped into Teletraan Control. A slender red Autobot with a black helmet had his back turned to the Prime as he tapped away on the computer, lines of code rolling down the screen like water downstream. Wires lead from various ports on the room’s titular orange and red computer down towards a small white panther-like robot, an odd red Decepticon insignia on his chest. It had once been something new recruits immediately worried about when seeing Ravage, but after an explanation and them realizing he was a glorified harmless shitposter, they settled down.

“o hai!” Ravage said, waving a paw at Optimus.

“Hello, Ravage,” Optimus said, giving a smile back. The robot at the computer looked to Optimus, one blue eye covered by what appeared to be a () lens, designed for a marksman and a scientist. “Good evening, Perceptor.”

“Ah, Optimus, it’s good to see you,” Perceptor said. “It has been… a long couple of days.”

The scientist’s less than upright position and his half shut eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He grabbed for a small energon prod, Optimus wincing as it crackled and caused the scientist to grimace and shoot upright, eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

“Did Ratchet not tell you that wasn’t healthy?”

“For personal endeavors, yes.” Perceptor crossed his arms. “For something like this? I’ll sacrifice.”

“Mmmmm.” Optimus hummed. His attention went to Ravage, then to Teletraan. “… are you reprogramming Teletraan?”

“To act as a portal, yes.”

Optimus blinked.

“A portal? But we have the Rift Bridge.” 

“Ah, but you see, that alone doesn’t work for where we need to go.” Perceptor leaned back on the desktop and sighed. “Once the first reports of people vanishing and fog came rolling in-“ He turned down to glare at Ravage, mouth open and finger pointing up “- and that is _not a pun_ , Ravage.”

“boooooooo.”

“Anyway.” Perceptor coughed. “I talked to our head detective about this. Do you remember her story?”

“Naoto’s?” She was more of the quiet type, especially by Autobot standards, but her brilliance was unmatched. Prowl acted like it was Christmas when Optimus informed him of her recruitment. “Bits and pieces, though you’ll forgive me for not remembering all of them off the top of my head.”

“Yes, well; the fog and the missing people were connected back in her home town,” Perceptor explained, then shook her head. “Supposedly when the fog came in, a person kidnapped someone and threw them into a TV. If they weren’t rescued in a few days, they showed up dead in their town.”

Optimus blinked and shook his head a little bit. 

“Something wrong, sir?” Perceptor questioned.

“… The oddness of that sentence caught me off guard.” Optimus stretched out a hand towards Perceptor. “Please, continue.”

“Mhmm. While we don’t have any culprits in this particular spat, Naoto pointed out that her and her team went in through a specific television in her local supermarket in order to rescue the captured people.” Perceptor turned towards Teletraan, and Optimus followed the scientist’s gaze. “She described the place as a collective consciousness of all of humanity in physical form, and that’s when this concoction came to being.”

“… Connecting Ravage to Teletraan?”

“And the rift bridge,” Perceptor added. Optimus peaked over his shoulder, pulsing wires winding from the other end of Teletraan to an unseen Rift Bridge generator just around the corner. “You see, when Naoto mentioned the collective consciousness, I asked myself; where would one go to see this collective consciousness? Everyone talking and joking and their hopes and dreams?”

“thats a weird way to describe shitposting but ok.”

Perceptor scowled. “Have you ever experienced the wonder of the sound of silence?”

“Perceptor.” A sternly worded call to keep the scientist on track; Optimus knew full well how distracting Ravage could be.

“Apologies.” Perceptor walked up to Teletraan’s control panel and tapped a few button. Hordes and hordes of screenshots and messages from various sites came rolling down. “Then it hit me; social media.” He held up a finger to Optimus, and then pointed to Ravage. “And that’s why he’s here.”

“told u I was important.”

“You always were, but that is besides the point.” Optimus could hear Ratchet chiding him for lying to Ravage in the back of his head. “So this… social media.” Optimus took a few heavy steps towards Perceptor and the screen. “You say it acts as a portal to this… collective consciousness? This TV World?”

“Not alone. But Ravage here seems to follow most everyone in the Multiverse that _has_ a social media account.”

Ravage held a paw up “besides the spambots. their rood.”

“That is _not_ -“ Perceptor scowled and shook his head. “Regardless, I ran some tests and some experiments, and while it’s a bit… hodge podge, right now.”

“Time is of the essence, Perceptor. You need not worry about perfection,” Optimus interjected.

“Right, the important thing is that this… system, works. I can fine tune it later as it should no doubt be useful.” Perceptor tapped a few keys on the control panel, images popping up. Various humans on various fuzzy screens. “You see, whenever someone gets thrown into this TV World, their faces pop up at the stroke of midnight, either near the place they were thrown into or to people that know them.”

Optimus eyes the images. Ten in all, including Vent; Optimus wondered how much of a start it gave Ratchet.

“Naoto called this the Midnight Channel, but it’s an incredible resource.” Perceptor bit his bottom lip. “A bit… too unscientific to my liking, but it works.” He tapped his fingers on the keyboard and sighed. “Using these images, coupled with Ravage’s connection to this collective unconsciousness, and connecting all of _this_ with Teletraan I and our Rift Bridge coordinates system…”

“… you turned our supercomputer into our key to saving these lives.”

“Hopefully, but there’s still one last piece to this puzzle,” Perceptor scrolled through the complied images, dragging Vent’s to the forefront of them all. “And if I’m correct, you may be the key to this.” He tapped a few more keys and the computer’s screen turned black, liquid ripples moving out from the center. Optimus found himself gawking some.

“How am I the key, exactly?” 

“I believe your Matrix might allow you to see through the fog choking out this TV World,” Perceptor said. “The humans have special glasses that allow them to see in here, but I haven’t successfully replicated them for Cybertronian use. The Matrix, being a repository of the Prime’s knowledge and Primus’ light, might allow you to see naturally.”

“Hmm.” Optimus felt a dull processor-ache coming on; if nothing else, this Multiverse liked variety in its crises. “I assume the others are accounted for?”

“Correct. Naoto and a few of her friends led teams to rescue the other victims a short time ago,” Perceptor tapped a few more keys, the ripples slowly ceasing. Teletraan’s processors ran like a train engine; Optimus could feel the heat from here. “Vent’s the newest victim here… and there.” Perceptor stepped away from the screen. “Portal should be stabilized.”

Optimus poked the screen, ripples reverberating outward from his poke. He took a couple of steps back, jet engine on his back roaring to life and battle mask sliding over his mouth. 

He braced his spark and plunged into the inky depths. The darkness consumed his vision for a brief moment before a green portal tore open in front of him. Optics narrowed, he plunged through to parts unknown…

… into what could only be described as an amusement park. Optimus’ footsteps echoed out in distorted waves as he touched down. A large roller coaster could be seen in the background, various concession stands and other rides designed for humans lining his path. Optimus eyed a merry-go-round, in traditional red and golden colors with flashing lights, a horse with a small black blob of a creature with an odd yellow construction hate riding past.

“Optimus?” Perceptor’s voice crackled through. “Can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear, Perceptor.”

“Good.” He hummed. “I’ve closed the portal that brought you here, as I’d rather the… residents of this place not find their way _out_ through our supercomputer.”

Optimus blinked and scanned around, a light pink metallic path winding through seemingly endless rows of abandoned rides, stands, and buildings. A few holes even littered the ground, some with suspicious burns. “Residents? I see human amusement park rides, but this place seems entirely abandoned.”

“Wonderful, you can see,” Perceptor said. “But be cautious; there are creatures here that form from the shadows.”

“Hmm.” At this, Optimus reached into his jetpack, grabbing for a handle. He yanked it out with force, gears and metal plating shifting from the handle to form what amounted to a personnel-sized cybertronian gatling gun. He eyed an abandoned trampoline tent, slightly deflated and dust setting in. “I will take heed, though I must say this; I did not expect an amusement park.”

“No doubt a human one,” Perceptor said. Optimus could hear the scientist drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “I happened to ask Rung for his files on the victims before dropping you in here…”

“That seems like a dire violation of patient privacy.” Optimus turned towards a shifting shadow out of the corner of his eye, just behind an oversized red and yellow circus tent. The barrels of his weapon rolled, warming up to fire at a glance.

“When their own psyche can potentially kill them, I would argue otherwise,” Perceptor replied. “And besides, you’re already in Vent’s… hm.” The scientist tapped on his tablet. “Mindspace? Bit crude and not _entirely_ accurate, since this is-“

A soft hum, almost like it came down from the sterile and lifeless blue sky, interrupted Optimus as he stopped next to a small train, going around in mindless circles with only a small helmeted fellow like the one from earlier on it.

“Did you hear that, Perceptor?” Optimus asked, looking to the skies.

“Vent, Aile, sweethearts.” A worried female voice broke out, shouts and laser fire echoing behind the voice. “Please, hide in here.”

“But, mom!“ Vent replied.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

The sound of the bathroom door shutting ceased the conversation. Optimus blinked, and soon the entire area became shrouded in pitch blackness, not unlike the featureless landscape heading into the dimension.

“Perceptor?” No response. A “ka-chunk” hit Optimus’ ears, and like someone flipping a switch, the amusement park came back into view. The sterile blue sky turned into night, flames and smoke in the background choking out the roller coaster in the distance. Flaming rubbish only barely resembling the merry-go-round it had once been sat by Optimus’ side, the train in front of him lying on its side, its red and black metallic hide riddled with holes and burns.

Optimus’ eyes widened, the Autobot taking a couple of cautious steps back. He swept the area, gatling gun whirling and at the ready.

“Optimus, do you copy?”

“Thank Primus, I hear you Perceptor.”

“Whatever happened after those voices spawned must’ve interrupted our link.” Perceptor tapped his datapad. “If I’m reading this right, Rung wrote down that Vent’s mother died in an amusement park attack.”

Shadows by the collapsed circus tents began to form into bubbling piles of life, dark figures taking shape in the wreckage.

“… which would explain the current setting,” Optimus’ eyes narrowed, the figures forming into humanoid shapes. Lumbering androids, purple and black and _faceless_ , emerged from the shadows. A massive cannon glowing with yellow energy made up their left arms; on their right, a normal human-like appendage with long claws.

Red liquid dripped from their joints, their dark purple “faces” turning to Optimus in unison. Bits of pink and black fabric hung from the jagged edges of their armor.

Optimus, at a very brief glance, noticed a collapsed stall with a “Restroom” sign next to the creatures. 

The humming of charging cannons brought Optimus back to the fight at hand, his jetpack providing just enough propulsion to only feel the heat of the first volley of shots and not the concussive impacts. His machine gun whined, barrels glowing blue and energy shots screaming towards an unlucky machine. Energy shot after energy shot ripped through its metallic hide, black oil and red liquid splattering outward from each blow.

The android convulsed and twitched before dropping to the ground, sickly liquids pooling underneath its body before the shadows claimed it back.

The sounds of footsteps alerted Optimus, a blade sliding out from his left wrist. Sparks flew after he swung, catching a pair of clawed hands from the shadows. Optimus grunted, metal on metal screeching. His eyes widened when one of the shadows jumped back, lunging forward with mindless menace and light glinting off of its dripping claw.

The claw hit nothing but air, Optimus’ jets roaring to life to give him just enough lift to jump. His blue eyes glared down at the two shadows, cannons glowing and faceless gazes focused firmly on him. With a mighty bellow, Optimus dropped.

The immediate area shook, dust flying up and obscuring Optimus’ landing site. His eyes registered the scattered parts of the machines, one decaying back into dust. A yellow glow from a cannon caught Optimus’ attention, the upper torso and arm remaining from the other. Sparks and a crunch of metal on metal followed.

Optimus stood on nothing but decaying shadow and in nothing but a crater. His spark settled, his head turned back towards the path.

“Impressive work,” Perceptor remarked. “To be expected, of course.” Optimus supposed Perceptor could see him; if Teletraan acted as a portal into this world, it could likely act as a viewing glass too. “I would expect stronger resistance once we get to Vent, however.”

“Do I simply follow this path forward?” Optimus asked, pointing towards the metal road, now riddled with holes, some from bullets and some still crackling with fire. It winded towards a massive wall, black and yellow and teal and ominous, though Optimus could see a futuristic gray door even from this distance.

“I believe so…” Perceptor trailed off. “Teletraan is starting to pick up on Vent’s signal.”

“Then I will make haste.” The last few wisps of heat and smoke wafted off of Optimus’ gatling as it slipped into his jetpack. Gears and joints turned and shifted, creating a series of sounds as Optimus’ upper torso and chest turned into the front part of an armored military vehicle, legs and arms sliding under to form the wheels. His jetpack rested on the back end of the concoction, a vehicle put together for the very purpose of acting as Optimus’ alternate mode.

Prowl had called it a needed, if not mandatory, upgrade from the old semi-truck form. 

Optimus felt the bumps in the road, his wheels turning and engine churning. He idled just short of the gate, the gray door remaining steadfastly shut. 

And then that familiar hum came back. The sound of rubble being tossed off could be heard from the deep black skies.

“Are you two alright?” A man’s voice asked.

“Y-yeah,” Aile replied. “We’re fine.”

“Where’s Mom?” Vent asked, a question the child already knew the answer to.

“… You’re the only two I’ve found,” the man replied after a long pause. “I’m sorry.”  
The sound of Vent crying and Aile doing her best to comfort made Optimus wince.

“My name’s Giro,” the man continued. Optimus imagined him offering the twins a hand. The conversation faded out as it came in.

“Giro… Giro… ah. Well” Perceptor tapped his pointer finger once, then twice, on his notepad. “Girouette is his full name. He knew Vent and Aile’s mom, he must’ve known to come looking and he took them in.”

“There was hesitation in your voice, friend,” Optimus noted. His arms and legs sprang out from his vehicle form, and in one fluid motion went from vehicle to standing robot. Red lights on the door came to life, opening up for Optimus like he had been forced to listen to that conversation.

“Mmmm, well. I suppose there’s no point in hiding _spoilers_ , but Giro died too.”

“… Noted.”

Optimus stepped through the open door. A playground sat before him, in a small confined space with painted green walls. He could see an elephant slide, a sandbox sitting in front of him, a proverbial jungle of metal bars sitting off to the side. Yet another metal door, similar to the first, sat yards away from him lifeless.

So too, did a dismembered purple android, resembling a baboon. A massive charge shot-sized hole through his chest fit nicely with the myriad of savage saber wounds littering its body; Optimus could almost hear Vent’s yells as he lunged at this creature.

“… That seems specific. Perceptor?” 

“If I were Ratchet, I would chide you for your hypocrisy on these records right now,” the scientist replied with a humor dry enough to create a desert.

Still, another hum broke through from the ceiling, this time assorted whispers following it.

“Why are you here?” Vent asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Optimus said

“You don’t get it, none of you do! Mom, Giro… it’s my fault!”

The metal plating around Optimus’ optics shifted and narrowed, the faintest of smiles vanishing beneath his battle mask.

“You should’ve known better than to come.” Optimus hands clenched into fists. “Leave.” Optimus could practically hear Perceptor wince. 

The hum and whispers came and took Vent’s voice with it. Optimus could see red lights blink to life on the door.

He didn’t move.

“Rung’s notes should have something-“

“Survivor’s guilt.” 

Silence set in, Perceptor sliding through the report.

“`Vent has a severe case of survivor’s guilt, a type of post-traumatic stress disorder`,” Perceptor recited. “Ah, well. There it is.” Another five seconds passed like minutes. “… You’re bothered by this, sir.”

“Eons of war and conflict leaves no one safe from scars, Perceptor. Not you, not me… I remember being surprised when I first heard about this being diagnosed.”

Optimus shook his head.

“I was naïve. Arcee and Wheeljack both suffered from this specific cruelty. Arcee almost shut down after the death of her partner; Wheeljack almost consumed himself with violence after one too many deaths on the Wreckers. Others…”

“… given the proliferation of weaponry and of other cruelties, I don’t believe you need to finish that statement.” 

“No. I do not.” 

Optimus yanked the handle of his gatling gun out of his backpack.

“Vent is young. He has deserved none of this.” Growing anger underlined Optimus’ tone. “So many put their faith in me and _succumbed_ to this malady, this abomination of a condition.”

His left hand turned into a second cannon, blue light glowing at the end of it. He stomped ahead, the door wisely deciding to let him through for its own good.

“Today will not add another name to that list.”

-

>Perceptor never liked poetry. 

Even before they were fighting for their lives and world in a brutal civil war, it seemed like a waste of time.

Still, for those who enjoyed the form of writing, what played out in the screen in front of him felt like positively gorgeous, brutal, poetry of the highest caliber. Even Grimlock would’ve been in slight awe of the rampage before grumbling that he could’ve done it better.

Optimus’ mighty armored vehicle rumbled towards a wall of face-like shadows, nothing but statues with half-human half-robotic faces launching elemental bursts that exploded harmlessly against Optimus’ ironclad skin.

The faces tumbled like bowling pins, bouncing all around the broken futuristic highway, clad in teal with buildings burning from flaming ordinance dropped from airships above. They dissolved into nothingness, much like every other being that had attempted to face down Optimus Prime in the last five minutes.

Perceptor argued against his own terminology; it felt more like a massacre. He’d feel bad if the creatures were nothing more than vessels of negative emotions mixed with Vent’s own subconscious.

The hushed whispers came swarming in, almost in unison with a massive puddle of darkness pooling together, coalescing into some massive bug-like _thing_ , propellers spinning on its sides to keep it upright.

“What do you mean, we can’t go into the city now?” Vent asked. Angry, mad; Optimus could’ve mistaken him for Aile if it weren’t for the pitch. “We have the power Aile, we can save people down there!”

Its metal plating oozing disgusting green liquid. A drop or two would fall to the battered and burned surface of the highway, carving smaller holes to join with the large cracked craters.

“Vent, you heard what Prarie and Giro said, it’s too dangerous now!” Aile protested.

“I’m not going to sit by and just let them do what they want, Aile!” Vent shouted. “This is the same thing that happened when Mom died; how many kids do you think lose their parents tonight?”

Optimus transformed and took to the skies. Energy and fury rained down below, the fly helplessly summoning smaller look-a-likes in a futile attempt to strike at the Cybertronian. It squealed as the rain of righteous anger smashed down into it, bullets tearing through its skin. Acid poured out from the holes, the fly writhing and screeching.

Aile didn’t respond.

“A lot more than if we go down there.”

The almost shiver-inducing sound ceased after a precision cannon shot tore through the middle of its forehead. The fly-like eyes dimmed, its massive body crashing into the highway. The concrete and wires fell down into the endless void of the city down below, consuming the dissolving remains of the monster.

Optimus noted the sound of Vent’s heavy metal footsteps ceasing the conversation around him.

Perceptor opened his mouth to warn Optimus of incoming shadows, claws and cannons bared like those before. Before he could utter a “watch-!”, a sliver blade jutted out from the back of the closest android. 

It writhed against the blade and shuttered against cannon shot after cannon shot. Optimus paid no mind to his temporary shield’s predicament, his gatling gun whirling as it sprayed blue bullets towards the rest of the faceless creeps, holes riddling their bodies with dark smoke spilling out.

The impaled machine dissolved on Optimus blade, and he withdrew it back into his wrist before tapping the side of his head.

“Perceptor?”

Optimus’ voice snapped the scientist out of his trance.

“Has Aile been contacted?”

“I.” Perceptor blinked. “Prowl’s been trying to, sir. Likely deep in one of Eggman’s bases.”

“Noted.” Optimus’s jets roared to life, and Perceptor watched him take off towards a tower in the distance, oozing raw powerful forces far beyond anything else here.

“Optimus, since our connection might be getting a little spotty, I have one last thing that’s very relevant to your interests here.”

“Go on.”

“Those Shadows you’ve been fighting down there are the lowly ones; generated in this Midnight Channel, though they tend to have strong variance depending on the person trapped,” Perceptor tapped his tablet, screen flipping from Rung’s notes to Naoto’s story and experiences with this demented place. 

Perceptor had to pause and remind himself he wired a _robotic cat_ into a supercomputer to make this work. Primus.

“Wherever that person is held, they tend to generate an… other self, if you will.”

“A clone. You are describing a clone.”

“Well, technically.” Perceptor paused. “Sort of. It’s still a Shadow, but one that’s essentially a warped and demented version of some truth they can’t quite accept about themselves.”

“… And in this case…”

“Given what we’ve been seeing and hearing, it’s hard to draw any other conclusion.”

A long pause sat on the communication line. The tower grew closer in Perceptor’s vision, static fading in and out.

“Optimus, I believe whatever force is in there will be breaking up our line, and soon. Vent is most certainly in that tower.”

“Then stand by for a bridge. And make sure Ratchet is on standby.”

“I- of course, sir. Please be careful.”

Static replied.

Perceptor sighed. Then tapped his chin. Something wasn’t right here, and Perceptor immediately pegged it for the unnatural degree of silence.

He turned towards Ravage. The little white panther stared, yellow eyes wide and gawking at Teletraan I’s screen.

“You haven’t said anything for the past ten minutes,” Perceptor uttered. “Yet another of Optimus’ miracles.”

Ravage shook out of his hypnotic gaze, yellow eyes narrowed at Perceptor. “shaddap.”

-

Optimus landed with a heavy metal thud. A black and purple gate sat before him, almost shrouded in shadow. Deathly silence filled the air, not a single thing moving or making a sound. Even the fires in the background seemed paralyzed, the shadows daring not to continue their futile efforts against Optimus.

The whispers scratched and screeched, as if they were fast-forwarding ahead.

“G-giro…” Vent was wounded, hurt. Badly. “I’m sorry.” Aile attempted to push herself up, grunting. The sounds of heavy metal footsteps closed in.

“You… don’t need to apologize.” A shimmering sound followed. “I promised you I would always protect you.” A twinkling sound, almost sounding like Giro fading away, followed. The heavy footsteps stopped, Vent and Aile surrounded. 

And then what sounded like a positively massive burst of energy erupted forth, tearing apart the surrounding droids before the scene faded into the ether.

“Giro sacrificed himself to save them,” Optimus stated. He hummed, a loud “ka-chunk” sound preceding the massive metal doors opening to the tower. Pitch black greeted him, only the vaguest outline of what appeared to be a futuristic elevator in front of him.

Optimus stared down the foreboding darkness unflinching. 

He stepped into the tower and heavy metal doors slammed shut behind him, leaving him in a sterile lobby, light blue futuristic human furniture surrounding him. Dead plants sat in pots. What appeared to be a cargo elevator sat before Optimus, red lights blinking by large circular gears on each rectangular corner.

Optimus’ heavy steps echoed into the infinite. The platform shuddered into a start, lifting him into the seemingly endless darkness above. The Matrix in his chest glimmered through truck, the shadows hissing and parting. 

When he was told the Matrix would light his path forward, Optimus never thought it’d be quite this _literal_. The gears turned and pushed up the walls, working in conjunction with wires lifting Optimus to his destination.

The elevator jumped before stopping, leaving Optimus in front of a dramatically long hallway. He shifted into his hulking armored truck form and rumbled further into the darkness. The last metal door wisely opened up for him, rather than risking the fate of the many shadows that had dared faced down Optimus Prime.

He snapped back into his humanoid form, gatling gun and cannon arm humming as blue eyes darted across the room. Empty shattered containers numbering into the thousands extended to the heavens, behind a hulking metallic _thing_ , red lines occasionally flashing through it towards a larger blood red light. Even fake, Optimus could sense the metal’s odd sense of hunger.

His optics landed on two figures in the middle of the room; Vent, his blue vest and khacki pants torn nearly to shreds, leaving almost nothing but his vulnerable latex bodysuit. 

And the other was Vent, gleaming cat-like yellow eyes staring into Optimus’ wide eyes. His wicked smile turned into an almost hissing frown at the sight of the faint glimmer of the Matrix.

“You know he told you to leave?” The other Vent’s voice came out distorted, corrupted, jarring Optimus’ senses. 

“Wh-“ the real Vent murmured, grabbing a visible gash on his right shoulder. A similar scar ran down his face, running over his shut right eye. “Optimus?”

“If you would listen to Ratchet, he’d make you believe I listen to no one,” Optimus remarked. He nodded at the real Vent, his blue eyes narrowing to daggers at the sight of the counterpart. “Back away from the boy, scourge.”

The shadow’s beady yellow eyes widened, then narrowed into a chuckle. “Aren’t we demanding today? You’re not really in position to talk here.”

The shadow took a step and just narrowly missed stepping on Vent.

“I have about five yards on you and your _boy_ just won’t accept a few things.” The other self tapped his foot, fists at his sides and yellow eyes turning into daggers. The Matrix in Optimus’ chest shimmered, blue light almost a match for his blue eyes.

Optimus remembered the legends; how supposedly Matrix bearers and Primes had a certain brilliant hue of blue to their optics. 

“Though that _thing_ …” The shadow pointed an accusatory finger at Optimus’ chest, seemingly forgetting about the normal Vent. He stepped around Optimus in a large semicircle, eyes never deviating from the Matrix. He hissed. “You bring that here?”

Optimus winced at the distortions, increased by the yelling to an almost unbearable degree. Vent shivered and covered his ears.

“The Matrix? A collection of the knowledge of the Primes?” Optimus moved towards the real Vent, positioning his body as a shield. 

“You dare illuminate this place with-“ the shadow started to convulse as the Matrix started to hum and shine brilliantly. “- _that_? That… _your_ truth?”

Shadows began to tear through the fake Vent’s clothes, purple and black like flames threatening to consume him entirely. 

Optimus scooped Vent into his hands in one fluid motion, the intensity of the flames growing. Blue eyes darted back and forth, boy in his hands groaning and grabbing his shoulder.

“O-optimus…” Vent murmured.

“Do not worry.” Blue flames erupted from the bottom of Optimus’ jetpack. In a flash, Optimus landed with a thud, consumed by the sounds of maniacal laughter and the feeling of the room shaking.

“But-“ Vent looked up at Optimus from behind the keyboard.

“I will handle this.”

“Do you really think that?” the shadow bellowed. Optimus whipped around, eyes narrowed and gatling gun spinning at the growing mass of black and purple, yellow eyes glaring from the deepest recesses of the calamity. 

It coalesced into a shape. Almost like a knight from human lore, almost twice the height of Optimus Prime, but with sickly purple lights running down from its helmeted face, spikes sitting on its sickly gray shoulder pads matching the color of the massive, almost robotic, body.

A clawed hand clasped a handle sticking out of an unseen sheath on its back, and procured a jagged deep purple blade of energy, with spiked protrusions sticking out whichever way.

“I am the shadow, the true self, and I’ll rip that _light_ out of your chest and beat you with it!” The other Vent’s voice grew deep, distorted.

In response, a storm of blue light slammed into his chest, bullet after bullet in an unrelenting fury fired from Optimus’ spinning machine gun. 

“That seems highly impractical.” The shadow’s head followed Optimus flying on the other side of the room.

With a scowl, the mighty knight slammed his sword into the floor. Purple light stretched out from the edge of the blade to the other wall. 

Optimus could feel the raw simmering darkness from the spikes that shot out mere centimeters in front of him, his jets reversing direction only just soon enough. Bullet after bullet unceasing fired from Optimus’ gatling, the dark knight’s hide quickly becoming riddled with dents and burns. 

Fire crackled to life with magic in the free hand of the robotic menace.

“Burn!”

Optimus felt the heat a split second before the full force of the fiery explosion hit him, his optics barely registering the foreign circle surrounding the explosion as heat dominated his senses. The faint scent of melted metal briefly distorted Optimus’ sight moments before he crashed to the ground with a thud, jetpack saving him from the full force of the fall.

His entire body ached, even the advances Cybertronian tech had made against magic only amounted to so much. He heard heavy footsteps growing closer… closer… then distant again.

The rotating ceiling came to a still. The footsteps slowed, Optimus catching a glimpse of a monsterous night heading towards a console.

Optimus snapped back to his senses.

His jets roared, _he_ roared at the sight of jagged dark blade, primed to stab down through the computer, through _Vent_ , and Optimus could only hope Perceptor had made the engine in his jetpack with enough torque to get there in time.

Optmus’ feet screeched against the metal flooring, sparks flying up as he slid to a stop, feet in front of Vent and only seconds before the blade split him in two.

Vent looked to the ground and shut his eyes for the blade that never came. He slowly opened one eye, catching the shaking form of Optimus Prime, back faced to him and body trembling.

He opened the other, and saw Optimus holding the very end of the blade with both hands. He grunted and slid his feet, planting them so firmly in the ground Vent thought he could hear dents forming in the floor.

The massive shadow pushed harder, leaning over at an awkward angle. Vent could feel the manic smile and malicious gaze from behind the warped purplish mask.

“If you were so _willing_ to throw yourself away like _this_.” His other self started, and Vent felt his stomach churn. “You could’ve just asked to add yourself to the list.”

Optimus metal feet screeched as he slide backwards. Drips of blue energon dropped from his hands, and Vent bit his lip. His mind raced, the words “please go” caught in his throat, because _no_ , not _this_ again, not after _Mom_ -

“After all, what else is the boy good for? The only “accomplishments” in his life are people _dying_ for him.”

The shadow pushed just a bit further, his ankles off of the floor. 

Vent could practically hear Optimus wince at the pain from the blade, the sheer force of his pistons preventing both boy and robot from being split in two.

Then Optimus _roared_. The pistons acting as muscles in his hands pushed upwards, the blade sticking up at an awkward angle. Vent’s eyes widened as Optimus simply let go, the grotesque purple blade embedding itself in the wall, the Shadow yelping as his monstrous clawed hands lost their grip on the handle of the blade.

Blue liquids trickled down the handle as Optimus grasped the massive gray handle, almost the size of his head. 

Vent turned and looked at the sound of the blade being ripped out of the wall. Vent followed the blade back, Optimus supporting it over his shoulder, shadow looking down in a mix of disbelief and worry at the Prime, Vent’s own knight shining brilliantly against the dim and dusk of the Midnight Channel.

Optimus swung.

“You _LIE_!”

Vent gritted his teeth at the sound of the shadow crying out, its own blade tearing out a chunk of its armor from shoulder to hip, purple shards sticking out of the fresh wound. 

“But-“ the shadow started. Optimus’ jets roared, lifting him and blade up into the sky.

He held the blade like a lance and charged.

Vent stood up, mouth agape, arms hanging loosely by his sides. The shadow howled, the sound of shards breaking inside of him reverberating throughout the area only moments after Optimus thrust the might blade through the robotic monstrosity’s stomach.

The Shadow stumbled backwards, clawed hands desperately grabbing at the handle of the blade.

“You are nothing more than a _condition_ , a _scourge_!”

Optimus punched once. The shadow fell back.

“You are nothing more than a symptom of _atrocities_ exposed to this child!”

Another punch, energon flinging to the floor and sparks from the solid connection of metal fist to metal face with it.

“Whatever may have happened to his mom, to Giro; it is not his fault.” Optimus clasped both fists above his head, sidestepping in midair to avoid a swipe of a claw. “It never will be.”

Optimus swung both fists like he swung an imaginary baseball bat with a resounding CLANG, a massive dent on his opponent’s cheek evidence enough of the results. Vent gasped as a claw swiped at Optimus, loud metal screeching complimenting the sparks flying from Optimus sliding on the ground a good few yards.

The titanic robot knight brought both hands to the handle of the blade, and with one loud painful cry, shattered the blade by yanking it violently to the side. The shadow paused to gasp, shadow billowing out of the fresh wound, drips of a foreign black substance raining to the floor.

It ignored the sounds of Optimus’ engine roaring to life. The shadow only had a split second after seeing Optimus’ armored truck form take a mighty leap, truck and jet engine working in unison, before he went crashing to the ground.

The other Vent groaned, Optimus’ feet planted firmly on his upper chest and the shadow’s world spinning. He came back to reality to see the monster truck tire in front of his face spinning.

And getting lower.

The sounds of the shadow crying in pain echoed throughout the battleground, the harsh scent of burning rubber filling the nostrils of those who had them.

The knight flailed around, claws swiping in whichever way in a blind frenzy, face covered in burning black tire mars. The only confirmation it got of hitting Optimus was the sound of claw on Cybertronian hide. 

Optimus landed on his hands and grimaced beneath his facemask. He grunted as he pushed himself upright, leaving liquid blue hand prints behind.

The shadow shot upright, claws covering his burning blinded face. 

The sound of Optimus’ twin weapons humming to life proceeded a bombardment of bullets, blue streaks of light racing towards the shadow’s face and gaping stomach wound. The cries of the monstrous knight grew louder and louder the more holes, dents, and burns riddled his body. 

Shadow poured out of the swiss cheese array of holes in the sickly purple and gray armor, blood red light running through the middle of the robot dimming.

Optimus took a few steps closer and raised his cannon arm, and fired.

The shadow’s head erupted in fire and energy. The headless knight slumped to the ground, the rest of it quickly dissolving into the ether from which it came. In a matter of seconds, a humanoid form sat where the knight had once been, Vent’s shadow groaning and grabbing his head and only vaguely aware of the sound of Optimus Prime getting closer.

Optimus’ Matrix blue eyes met the shadow’s cat-like yellow eyes with no mercy, cannon arm raised. Seconds passed like eons, both combatants in the last stand off ignoring the light, staggered, footsteps closing in on them.

“O-optimus,” the real Vent stammered out, hand on Optimus’ knee in an effort to support himself, his left arm hanging limp. “Please.”

“Vent, please, I can handle this,” Optimus said.

Vent shook his head. His own half shut green eyes met his shadow’s.

“Look, I…” Vent bit his lip. “He’s not wrong. I just never felt like I belonged anywhere, that I had any real.” He sighed and exhaled. “Worth. Never in school, never as a _hero_.”

Optimus could plainly hear the borderline mockery on the last word.

“I just.” Vent rubbed his limp arm. “I wish Mom and Giro were still here.” He grew quiet. “I wish people would stop dying around me, _for_ me in stupid, horrible ways.”

He shut his eyes. “I wish I hadn’t made the choice to go down to the highway. I thought I finally mattered, that I could finally do something.” Vent looked up at Optimus, then averted his gaze. “You know, don’t you.”

“I do.” Optimus nodded, cannon unmoving from the human shadow’s face. 

“Mmm.” Vent looked away. “I guess at the end of the day I don’t want to be a liability; I don’t want to drag people down, I don’t want people to die because of me, I don’t…” He pursed his lips, he nodded. “I don’t just want to feel like a worthless liability.”

The shadow nodded, body suddenly bursting with light and dissolving into nothing but light sparkles. A futuristic robotic knight, light gray armor black with red lines running through it in parts, floated like an ethereal being in front of the duo. Optimus’ optics watched a light blue card form in front of it, floating down into Vent’s waiting hands. It reminded him of the tarot card that Naoto used to summon her own Persona. A lightbulb went off in his head, an idea stored away for future use.

The card vanished as quickly as it came, as did the knight. The forboding power and feeling from the place ebbed away. Optimus’ cannon turned back into his mangled right hand, the Prime holding back a grunt of pain. 

Vent’s legs shook, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes half shut.

“Vent, please…” Optimus extended his left hand before reminding himself of his open wounds, blue energon dripping to the ground. He remembered the night Wheeljack accidentally gave a new human recruit a shot of an energon-based mixed drink; the poor girl had to get her stomach pumped by Ratchet her first night on duty or her nerves would've been fried in due time..

Optimus shifted down into his truck form and swung a door open instead. “Get inside, I cannot think of any place safer.”

Vent chuckled, taking step after shaking step up and into the passenger seat of the armored military truck. “I mean, after all of this,” Vent said. A seatbelt slid in over his chest and clicked. “I can’t argue with that.” Vent flashed a look at the Autobot insignia on the steering wheel, at the various monitors lining the dash of the truck. “So what do these…”

“I wouldn’t touch those,” Optimus interjected. He said a silent prayer and activated his comms once more. “Perceptor, this is Optimus, do you read?” 

“Loud and clear.” Perceptor’s voice rang through like he was sitting in Optimus’ cab. Mercifully. “Is Vent okay?”

Optimus peered into his cab, Vent’s head leaned on the reinforced window as he started to snore lightly.

“Nothing that Ratchet can’t fix.”

A light green portal tore into the room, inviting Optimus in.

“Wonderful. And since the interference here is gone…”

-

An hour later, Optimus sat outside of a hospital ward. He remembered the first time he ordered Ratchet to retrofit a few of the Cybertronian medical bays for organics, and couldn’t help but be thankful for the foresight.

His mangled hands caught his attention once more, blue eyes darting over the various tears and slightly less than fresh wounds. They stung still, but he grumbled silently about what Ratchet would say about them.

The sound of running, human footsteps, grabbed Optimus’ attention. A young adult girl, nearly a match for Vent with her green eyes and general style, came to a halt in front of Optimus. If it weren’t for the shorts and the smoother hair Aile would be identical to Vent.

“Optimus, sir!” Aile paused for a breath. “Vent, I just got the message from Prowl after-“

“He’s safe,” Optimus said, holding up a mangled palm.

Aile looked at the hand, then the various melted bits of armor and burn marks and scratches littering Optimus’ thick armored hide.

She exhaled and smiled, eyes shut and nodding.

“I owe you sir. A lot.” Aile crossed her arms and bit her lip. “If Vent… I…” Her voice gave way to shaking anger. 

“I understand your feeling,” Optimus said, then looked to the door. “He means a lot to you.”

Aile walked up and claimed the spare spot on the edge of the gunmetal gray bench.

“Yeah. He doesn’t feel the same though.” She kicked her feet, hands gripping the cold edge of the bench. “I’ve tried to help him on it but…” Aile laughed bitterly, eyes half shut. “Some good that did.”

“Do not downplay yourself like that,” Optimus replied. “You were still there for Vent in his darkest hours, and I have no doubts you did everything in your power to help him.”

Aile continued kicking her feet and staring at the ground.

“It’s… never easy to see someone your cherish struggle like this,” Optimus continued, gaze focused intently on Aile. “I understand that helpless feeling you have with Vent.”

She slowed her kicking and looked up.

“But in the end, being there for them and doing your best for them, finding ways to help them… that has immense value in and of itself, even if it just means they can face the day.”

Aile swallowed and nodded. 

“It takes time to overcome these mental obstacles, and it is never the same for everyone,” Optimus continued on. “You should not judge yourself because Vent continues to struggle, only to take solace that you’re doing your best and continuing to think of how to help him.”

Aile rubbed her left eye and sniffed.

“I… yeah,” she said and nodded. “Yeah.” She smiled. “Thanks, Optimus.”

Optimus gave her a warm smile.

“Any time, Aile.”

The door to Vent’s room slid open, metal panels shifting away to reveal Ratchet walking out. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of Optimus.

“Vent is fine and conscious.” Ratchet looked down to Aile. “While I would _strongly urge_ letting him rest and recover for the next few days, he is up for visitors.”

Aile jumped off of the bench and navigated around Ratchet, the door welcoming her into Vent’s room and locking behind her. Not even a whisper of their conversation could be heard by either Autobot.

Ratchet crossed his arms and Optimus instinctively sighed.

“Half of your armor is melted, you have so many deep scratches I’m surprised you haven’t bled out.”

Optimus rolled his eyes, before they widened and he winced at the sudden feeling of Ratchet holding his hands.

“And your hands look like Grimlock’s _chew toys_.”

“It was necessary, Rat-“

“D’yep yep yep” Ratchet shook his finger at Optimus before it turned into a welder. “I don’t want to hear that from you, you’ll get yourself killed doing that.”

“It was, Rat-nrgk-chet.” Optimus grimaced as sparks flew from his hands.

“Mmmmm yes, I’m sure I’m sure,” Ratchet mumbled. He held both of Optimus’ hands for another second, nodding and muttering to himself something or another about Optimus’ recklessness, before stepping back a ways.

“I swear on the Allspark it _was_ , Ratchet,” Optimus said. He observed Ratchet roll his optics as the welder retreated back into his hands… moments before his entire arm turned into a three-pronged metal ray-like device. 

“I will take your word for it,” Ratchet said in the most unconvincing tone he could manage. Blue waves of energon washed over Optimus from what Bulkhead had once described as an energon healing _cannon_ due to its sheer size. 

“Are you acting as my doctor or my significant other?” Optimus questioned, feeling his wounds melt away.

Ratchet paused to slide open a panel on his right arm, nodding as diagnostic statistics rolled in from Optimus. He turned his cannon back into a normal arm and shrugged.

“Both?”

Optimus sighed. 

“And you always claimed Ironhide was the stubborn one,” he chided.

Ratchet huffed and planted his fist on his hips. “Hardly! There’s a difference between stubbornness and logic.”

Optimus quirked an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

“The fact that if you didn’t have me to reign in your martyrdom streak.” Ratchet jabbed a finger at Optimus. “That you would’ve gotten yourself _killed_ and left me in a universe teeming with organics and _Prowl_.

“I… understand your fears, old friend,” Optimus said. The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the two, both turning to see Aile standing by the door.

“I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Aile said, her emerald eyes, slightly reddened, focusing on Optimus. “But Vent wants to talk to you before taking a nap, sir.”

“Mercifully, not all organics have the mouth she has,” Ratchet grumbled. 

“Perhaps the same could be said of you and Cybertronians,” Optimus chided. His approach to the door masked his light smirk at Ratchet’s stewing. Aile stood up straight at the sight of Optimus, eyes shifting and pointer finger across her lips. “… is there something you want to say, Aile.”

Aile rubbed her arm and sighed. “I know you know…” She shook her head. “A lot about Vent, about _me_ now, just.” Aile bit her lip. “Please don’t tell anyone about all of this.”

“It is, and never will be, my time to tell that sensitive information. To anyone.” Optimus held his hand over his spark. “You have my word.”

Aile sniffled. “Thanks, sir.”

“Thank Perceptor when you have the chance,” Optimus said.

The first thing Optimus noted after the metal door’s various plates shifted and clicked shut was the serenity of the room, the feeling of being totally disconnected from the outside world.

Vent stared at him from the bed, hands gripping the edge of his white sheet, a stark contrast from the reds and oranges and grays that made up most of the Ark’s color palette.

Optimus sensed Vent’s nerves, and moved to what could only be described as an oversized office chair, designed for the biggest of Cybertronians. “How are you feeling, Vent?” 

Vent’s shoulders loosened, his back sinking into the pile of pillows once more. Optimus noted the bandages covering his face, a black patch not unlike a pirate’s covering his left eye.

“Better.” Vent murmured. “Ratchet said I should make a full recovery.”

“Of course.” Optimus smiled and clasped hs hands down by his pelvis. “He is the one looking after you, after all.”

Vent let out the smallest of laughs, giving Optimus a faint smile that quickly gave way to uncertainly. He twiddled his thumbs.

Awkward silence set in. 

“Um…” Vent shut his good eye and exhaled. “I’m sorry, it’s just.” He tilted his head and turned to Optimus fully. “You know so much now, I just-“

“I apologize for the circumstances that conspired to make this happen,” Optimus replied. “It was not my intent to dig into deeply personal affairs.”

Vent waved his hands in front of him. “W-what, no! You don’t need to apologize for anything!” He exhaled sharply through his nose, and that damned silence set in again. Optimus wasn’t entirely sure why it bothered him so much; he had spent so much time in near silence as an archivist back before Cybertron erupted in civil war, and even as a commander he found himself with ample silent time to think.

Of course, the game had changed. They were no longer fighting over every inch of land, every scrap of energon just to _survive_. The Multiverse had drained them initially, sure, but now? Even with the Multiverse scarce in natural energon resources, they had ample allies and plenty of access to other means of creating a suitable substitute for their lifeblood. 

And of course, they were no longer fighting over every inch of land. Optimus wasn’t a fool; he knew what still lurked out in the other worlds of the Multiverse. But they lived in a relatively peaceful time. Which, ironically, cut down on Optimus’ own silent and peaceful time. The Autobots under his command were nothing but chatty, for the most part. Even the humans; though Naoto preferred her own studies and the company of her significant other.

In retrospect, Optimus knew he saw a bit of himself in the young detective.

Vent’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“I asked for you because I wanted to ask you a question,” he muttered.

“You may ask me whatever you wish.” Optimus bowed his head slightly.

“… why’d you come?” Vent’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “To the Midnight Channel. For. Well.” He faced Optimus fully, but his uncovered eye dropped to the floor. “Me.”

“I-“ Optimus started.

“I mean, you’re the commander of the largest peacekeeping force in the entire Multiverse. Between you and Tails you’ve defended and fought over so many worlds, saved so many lives…” Vent shook his head and tapped a pointer finger on his sheet. “You killed Megatron and halted the Decepticon invasion of Tower of Twilight.”

Optimus’ neutral façade threatened to falter at the twinge of guilt in his spark.

“You repelled Schazer and his pirates from the Moon, helped so many people and prevented god knows how many tragedies…” Vent placed his hand on his chest and looked Optimus in the optics. “Why risk all of that for me? Of.” His gaze dropped. “Of all people.”

“Vent.” Optimus wanted to delve into a spiel about how freedom, life, and liberty are the rights of all sentient beings. Ratchet bitching at him for falling back on _that_ for the umpteenth time rang through his processor like the medic stood right next to him.

Besides that being his usual cliché, the hows and whys of why Optimus Prime dove into the Midnight Channel to save a human child were ultimately irrelevant. Vent knew it, and Optimus knew it at a single glance.

His optics shifted around, searching for an answer.

“There are times where tragedy will strike.” Optimus shut his optics and shook his head. “Life, even ours, is fragile.” He sighed heavily and opened his optics, a frown plastered on his face. “I have learned all too well that it is not just death that is a tragedy.” He shifted upright in his chair. “Rather, it is also those that are left behind.” 

Vent stared at the floor. 

“Vent, Ratchet has a saying. Sometimes, people die in terrible, stupid, unfair ways,” Optimus continued on. “It was not fair for your mother to be in the amusement park on that fateful day.” Vent began to shake, as if Optimus needed another signal to pick his words carefully. “It was not fair to Giro that a warmonger attacked a highway one fateful night.”

“We shouldn’t have been there,” Vent murmured, tears dripping down his right eye. “I told them to go, I went down there, I _knew_ better, I-“

“Giro did not have to be there.”

Vent’s stammering stopped cold.

“Giro went down there because I know in my spark of sparks he cared deeply about you and Aile.” Vent’s lip quivered. “He went down there because he valued you and your sister strongly enough that he would make the ultimate sacrifice for you.”

Vent opened his mouth before his words were choked out by tears.

“He is not the only one.”

Optimus extended a hand towards Vent, Matrix blue eyes locked onto one lone teary emerald eye.

“I want you to know this is the truth of the matter, Vent; you matter. To your sister, to Cinnamon, to Rung, to _me_ , to Perceptor too.” 

Vent sniffled, staring at Optimus from his outstretched hand.

“I wish nothing more than for you to realize this too.”

Optimus felt Vent’s arms wrap around his hand, his head resting on Optimus’ palm. After a few seconds he withdrew, nodding and attempting to steady himself.

Finally, he spoke.

“Thank you.”


End file.
